ination, until it also has come very near to the danger line, and in a short time will have to become a thing of the past.

So it would have been with the springs of which Mr. Leavitt speaks. Think, my friends, of drinking water from springs located near a fill for a street and knowing that those streets were made from street sweepings, cess-pool cleanings, and the refuse from 60,000 people, as you know that most of our filled streets have been made. Go to the North End where once was the old fair ground, where our soldiers of the Civil War camped. See the number of houses with their richly fertilized lawns and numberless barn cellars, and would you drink from the old spring if there? I think not.

But we have some springs which you may stoop down to and drink with safety, the finest of which, according to analysis, is known as the Stark spring, situated at the north side of our beautiful Stark park, and which from its location will probably remain pure for many years. Then there are two springs located in Derryfield park which are nearly as good as the one at Stark park. There is another at the northwest corner of Valley and Beech streets, which is used a great deal. That is good. There is another on the land of A. D. Gooden that supplies the family of Capt. David Perkins at the corner of Lake avenue and Milton street, which is also very good.

In my younger days, I can remember of watering the horse at this latter spring as we drove in from Raymond. Still another spring of note, and which shows fine water, is the one which supplies the watering trough about one mile this side of Goffe's Falls. There are two other springs which have long since gone by, and which once quenched the thirst of the hard laboring man and many families. One was located just at the rear of Horatio Fradd's store and the other, which was unearthed this summer by the workmen building the new mill on the West Side, was on the land of the Amoskeag Manufacturing Company.

Other springs which are now in existence, and some of them in actual use, include the following: One at the corner of Val

ley and Elm streets, just west of Valley cemetery, one at the south end of the gas house and just east of the Elm Street bridge, one on land of John Porter at the south end of Jewett street, one opposite the Kimball shoe factory and north of cemetery brook on land of the Elliot Hospital, one just north of Blood's Locomotive works, one on the east side of Canal street opposite the Olzendam hosiery, and used for years by the employees of the bag mill, one at the northwest corner of Beech and Summer streets, which used to be used by hundreds, but has now been destroyed to make room for a house, one about 200 feet west of Beech street on old Park street, now Lake avenue.

All these springs have in their day done yeoman service but have had to give way to old Massabesic, as they have grown foul by the increase of population or the erection of buildings. Many people will miss these cool waters, but the pride of them all, the water which will stand by us for ages and of which we may with safety drink freely, is the soft, clear water of Massabesic which flows constantly and faithfully into nearly every household in the city. The area of this lake is 2500 acres, and its twenty-eight miles of shore is lined with noble pines, oaks and pretty cottages, constantly watched over by an officer of the health board. Of the purity of this supply there can be no doubt, as is shown by the following analysis :

The Story of a Private Soldier in the Revolution

AN ADDRESS BY JOHN FOSTER, DELIVERED BEFORE THE MANCHESTER HISTORIC ASSOCIATION, JUNE 18, 1902.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Historic Association : -The morning sun of the twentieth century shines upon a magnificent era. Civilization has made wonderful strides in the past hundred years. The arts of war, no less than those of peace, have reached in our minds the plane of perfection. Our armies on the land, and our navy on the sea, are perfect in discipline and equipment. We have an arm that has a deadly range at a distance of two and one-half miles. We have an ordinance that will send a 1000-pound ball through an 11-inch armor plate, at a distance of 12 miles. Our military and naval commanders are trained in the best schools in the world, and the rank and file are disciplined by that training. Contemplating these facts, let us draw a comparison.

Let us turn from the conditions of today, back to the situation of a century and a quarter ago. From the drilled and skilled professional soldier, to the untrained yeomen of 1775, who stood behind those clumsy flintlock muskets, grimly waiting the approach of the best drilled soldiers of Europe.

History tells us much of brave deeds of commanding officers, of how they fought and won; but of the sturdy fellows who stood behind the guns, poorly paid, miserably fed, and scantily equipped, and fought through that dreary period of seven years, we have left but little individual record.

It is of one, who as a private soldier in the Revolution, bore an honorable part, that I wish to tell you tonight.

Moses Fellows, my mother's grandfather, was born in Plais

tow, N. H., Aug. 9, 1755. He removed to Salisbury, N. H., with his parents, when 11 years of age, and settled on a tract of wild land on the slopes of Kearsarge mountain.

Their life was full of frontier incidents. Occasionally an Indian scare, now and then, a bear or deer was hunted, and killed, to replenish the larder. At the age of 18 he killed a moose on the Kearsarge.

Under such conditions the youth developed into a young man of rugged constitution and iron nerve, and when the news of Lexington and Concord came up the valley of the Merrimack, he, with eight others from Salisbury, hastened to enlist in Captain Baldwin's Company, of John Stark's Regiment, and hurried to the scene of action.

At the Battle of Bunker Hill, Stark's command and a body of 200 Connecticut men were stationed at the rail fence, the line extending to Mystic river. Their ammunition was limited to twelve rounds to a man. The stern order ran along the line, "Don't fire till you see the whites of their eyes, and then aim at their waistbands." Thus the New Hampshire boys waited the approach of the British regulars on the morning of June 17, 1775.

When the enemy had reached a certain point, the order to fire was given, and the 800 men under Stark, went to work as coolly as though they were hoeing corn on their native hills, firing slowly and deliberately, seeking to make every shot tell. Captain Baldwin went down, but the Salisbury men fought on till the last round had been exhausted, and Moses Fellows found himself with a single charge of powder, and no ball left; but the boy from Kearsarge rammed home the powder, left the ramrod in the barrel, and blazed away at close range. The discharge was effective, for a Redcoat was spitted by the novel projectile.

The result of the fight at Bunker Hill, is history. Though in fact it was gained by the British, the moral effect was a victory for the Americans. The colonists demonstrated to themselves